


Softer To Me

by roktavor



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Snark, Some Humor, The Death Cure Spoilers, bookverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-02-20 10:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13145052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roktavor/pseuds/roktavor
Summary: Little moments of comfortable physical contact between Minho and Newt, scattered throughout the series. (bookverse)





	Softer To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit, I wrote this all the way back in 2015. So, uh, it's old, and obviously written before Fever Code came out, but I'm pretty sure that nothing in here contradicts any new info we got too badly. 
> 
> I've read through this a couple times since to try and edit it, but it wound up reading clunky (not to mention klunky ahaha) so ultimately I left it alone. In light of the Death Cure movie coming out next week (!!!) I thought I'd finally haul it out from my archives and post it, since it hasn't aged too badly :'D
> 
> Anyway this is largely Minewt with a super tiny dusting of Nalby bc I'm beyond weak for that ship but Minewt is also A+

It’s the middle of the first month of their new life.

The Glade is a rough place, but by their own determination, they’re all slowly but surely pulling it together. They have no choice, really, because all they have is each other and this place – all they properly _know_ is each other and this place.

Not very cheery, but it is what it is.

All Newt really knows about Minho right now is that he is standoffish, because there has been very little trust to go around in these first few weeks, and no real camaraderie. They’re all a bit paranoid, and they’re all still pretty shaken. Newt has been watching, though, and he notices that Minho seems to deal with it by stuffing it down and hiding it as he examines everyone from afar with a critical eye.

Minho is also curious – maybe more so than any of them are, even at first. Just that morning, Newt had watched him nose around and stare out the Doors into the endless corridors of the Maze, something indecipherable on his face.

Newt finds himself thinking that, just maybe, Minho will be a good person to stick to.

Currently, they’re sitting next to each other – Newt and Minho – in a room in the Homestead, their backs touching the wall as they slouch around, waiting for sleep. Nobody is talking – it’s already been a long enough day, and too much has already been talked about.

Earlier, the idea of properly organizing an exploration of the Maze had been proposed, and Minho had been all for it. Newt had spoken in favor of the idea as well.

Since then, Minho has been with him.

Since then, Minho has been sitting here, next to him, in surprisingly companionable silence.

And then, just like that, a little while after nighttime creeps up on them, it happens.

Minho falls asleep.

Newt hasn’t been paying too much attention to the boy next to him, but he’s forced to when suddenly there he is, dead to the world and flopping over until his head rests comfortably on Newt’s shoulder.

Newt freezes up, and he’s staring down at Minho in mild shock. A quick glance around the room tells him nobody else has noticed, or if they have they’re pretending that they haven’t, and then he goes back to staring at Minho. He looks oddly peaceful like this, definitely more relaxed than Newt has ever seen him until this point (which isn’t saying much, since he hasn’t known Minho long at all, but still).

It’s…an odd mix of endearing and comical (which, over the years, he would come to learn suited Minho perfectly). Here’s this strong, stoic boy, sleeping calmly on his shoulder, like there isn’t a thing in the world to worry about or fret over – it’s almost tranquil enough to lull Newt to sleep himself.

…Then comes the _snoring_.

For some odd reason, Newt laughs out loud at that. Of course Minho snores. Of course he does – and of course he falls asleep right on Newt’s shoulder, just so he can snore obnoxiously into his ear and…and is he _drooling_?

That does it, and Newt follows the impulse that strikes him to shove Minho off of himself. The other boy falls to the floor with a thump, and Newt grins to himself, pleased.

Minho jolts awake immediately, then sits up, and proceeds to stare Newt down with the most intense look that he’s ever seen. It makes Newt feel like he’s being sized up, so he stares back, trying to look simultaneously as innocent and threatening as possible.

They stare at each other for a short, charged moment – and then Minho laughs. He grins – a small, smirky thing – and lets out a few puffs of laughter, clearly amused.

Newt laughs, too, even as Minho shoves him over in retaliation.

-

He’s glad to have his friends back.

Newt has spent nearly twenty four hours in a state of constant worry and dread, and he’d never thought that he would see Alby or Minho (or Thomas) alive again. He’d thought they were all done for, from the moment the Doors shut. Newt is sure that nothing will ever top the relief he felt when he had found out that they were all okay.

But it turned out to be a short-lived feeling, that relief.

Because Alby’s been stung, and he’s not out of the woods yet. His best friend will never be the same again, and seeing him suffer through the Changing is pain in its purest form, Newt thinks. He stays, though, because he has to. He won’t abandon Alby now – he’ll _never_ abandon Alby.

When Thomas comes around asking to see Alby, Newt turns him away vehemently.  He owes Thomas _everything_ , but he’s not about to let him witness something like this (not again, anyway), not even in passing. Still, Thomas risked his life to save Alby, and Newt will never forget that.

It takes some time for Alby to calm, but Newt sticks by him all the while. He didn’t sleep properly last night, though, and coupled with the worry that’s eating him alive…it’s doing a number on him. Various Med-jacks have been trying to get him to take a break, insisting that they’ve got it handled, that Newt should get some rest, and that he absolutely doesn’t have to stay here constantly – and eventually Newt relents because he can’t take it anymore.

He takes one last lingering look at Alby’s writhing form before he leaves, and he knows he’s going to be back sooner than anyone wants.

Newt trudges down the hall, to a room that should have an unoccupied bed (because ordinarily Alby sleeps here, and Newt with him), because he feels wrung out and more than anything he thinks he wants a little sleep, if he can. But when he opens the door, he finds that the bed is occupied by none other than Minho, who’s stretched out on his front, lounging on top of the covers.

Minho’s not asleep, but he looks relaxed enough to be, and he’s clean but he still looks the picture of exhaustion. His gaze is lazy but it sharpens when it lands on Newt.

“Hey,” is all he says, voice casual and surprisingly strong.

 Newt wonders if either of them really have the energy for a conversation right now, but he wanders into the room anyway and shuts the door behind him. Against all odds, here’s Minho in front of him, alive and well – and there’s Alby down the hall, alive but slightly-less-well, and Newt counts his blessings for the umpteenth time today.

“You alright?” Newt asks, because he realizes that he hasn’t gotten the chance to, and Minho had looked dead on his feet just a few hours ago.

Predictably, Minho gives him an odd look (one that says ‘too-little-too-late’ and ‘do-I-look-alright-to-you’ all at once). “Yeah, fine.”

“You sure?” Newt implores gently, and he bumps his knuckles against Minho’s shoulder, nudging him.

Minho rolls his eyes at that. “ _Yes_ , mom. Just a bit scraped up…Med-jacks wouldn’t quit pokin’ me, but I escaped and cleaned myself up.”

A heavy, almost-exasperated sigh escapes Newt, then, but he can’t even muster up a scowl at being called ‘mom’.  Something like a grin flashes across Minho’s face at that and then he continues.

“I’ve been trying to sleep, but – ”

As if on cue, a sharp cry comes from a few rooms away. Minho winces, and Newt can physically feel the color drain from his own face as his head whips around to look towards the door.

He should go back to Alby – he has to – and most of him really wants to. The urge is so strong he almost turns and leaves right then.

But Minho reaches over and pokes him, and Newt snaps his head back around to look at him.

“Are _you_ alright?” Minho asks, and he hasn’t bothered to move from his spot on the bed.

He gets a noncommittal shrug and a half shake of the head in return for his efforts, because Newt can’t muster the strength to lie just yet. Luckily, Minho lets him off the hook and fires a different question at him instead.

“Is Alby alright?”

Newt brings his hands up to rub at his face, pushing the tiredness back as far as he can (not very far, but it’ll have to do) before responding. “…He will be.”

There’s another scream from Alby’s room, and this one is louder but just as aptly timed as the one before.

“Sounds like it,” Minho mutters.

Newt glares at him, but Minho just ignores it as he finally sits up, grunting as he does, because apparently this takes a lot of effort and apparently he’s still ragged.

“C’mere,” Minho says, “sit down. You look like a freaking zombie.”

“Slim it,” Newt grumbles, even as he moves to take Minho up on his offer, sitting down gratefully next to his friend. His ankle twinges as he does.  “Like you look any better.”

Minho raises his eyebrows. “I’m gorgeous.”

“I’m leaving,” Newt responds, deadpan.

Minho snickers, but it’s cut off pretty quickly by another loud cry from Alby. The thin walls in the Homestead do nothing to muffle the awful sound, and Newt’s heart throbs painfully in his chest as any humor he might have felt evaporates. He wants to get up and go to Alby, but he slumps against Minho instead, feeling defeated despite getting his friends back against all odds.

“I’m glad you’re both alive,” he says before he can think about it. “And Tommy,” he adds as an afterthought. 

He feels Minho leaning into him as he replies. “Luckily that greenie is actually competent.”

There’s something about his tone that reeks of self-deprecation, but Newt ignores it and lets the silence stretch between them.

-

Alby is dead.

Through it all, through everything that happens after that, that one realization keeps permeating Newt’s thoughts and it’s all he can do to keep it together.

Alby is _dead_.

They’re free, finally out of the Maze, but Newt has never felt more broken. It’s like someone reached right into his chest and pulled out half of his heart, leaving a gaping hole. So many of his friends died today, _Alby_ died today, and he’s left wondering if it’s worth it.

There was a time when Newt wanted to die. Some days, he still thinks it would be easier than living. He wonders why he’s still here when none of the others are – Alby kept him alive, the others kept him alive, he lived for them, but now they’re gone and he’s here and yet he has to keep going anyway.

Half of his friends are dead, but half of them are alive, and it will be enough. But now…right now his chest aches because _Alby is dead_ , and Chuck is dead, and Thomas looks as torn apart as Newt feels, and what did any of them do to deserve any of this?

Minho grabs his hand right as their apparent rescuers crash in and shoot the Creators dead.

Newt is surprised, but he doesn’t have it in him to be shocked anymore, so he simply squeezes back. He’s grateful, and the contact grounds him somewhat.

Alby is dead, but Minho is still here. Minho is here and he’s alive, and his palm is slick with sweat and gritty with dirt, but Newt can feel his pulse thrumming and that grip is firm and sure, and it’s just what he needs.

When they’re told to run, Newt spares a glance around to make sure that everyone else is following. He sees that Teresa is with Thomas, and that’s good, because they’ll keep each other safe. Then Minho pulls on him, and Newt runs, still clinging to his hand like a lifeline.

They’re out in the rain, then, and despite it all Newt thinks it feels good. He wants to stay out there and let the water wash everything off of him and away, but they’re being ushered onto a run-down bus, so he continues on. He boards it with Minho, and the other boy pulls him into a seat, and even after they sit down, he doesn’t let go of his hand.

Alby is dead.

Newt squeezes Minho’s hand again as Minho inches closer to him.

Really, all Newt wants is to curl up somewhere and cry or sleep – there’s so much going on right now and he’s lost a lot in the past few hours.

For now he just sits and holds tight to Minho’s hand.

-

The two of them are at the front of the group, walking along like the others and hiding from the too-strong sun underneath a sheet. Currently, Minho has the pack…and currently, he’s being too stubborn to hand it off to Newt.

“You’ve had it for the past two bloody hours,” Newt says, for what is probably the thousandth time that day.

“Uh-huh,” is Minho’s nonchalant reply, and Newt would kick him if walking wasn’t enough of an effort in and of itself.

“Let me carry it for a while.”

It’s probably a bad idea, to be arguing right now. The more they talk, the thirstier they’ll get, and it’s not like their supply of water is unlimited. But Newt doesn’t want to think right now – he’s done enough of that lately – and if having a mindless argument with Minho is the only distraction he has, he’ll take it, consequences be damned.

He doesn’t get a proper response though, just a tiny smirk as Minho readjusts the pack on his back to keep it from slipping.

Newt frowns.

“Minho. Come on. I’m not going to let you carry that thing all day, we’re supposed to be taking turns.”

Once again, there’s no verbal response, and this time Minho roughly bumps his shoulder into Newt’s. The action is so unexpected that Newt’s right ankle gives from the sudden pressure, and he trips up, nearly losing his grip on the sheet. When he rights himself, he glowers over at Minho. He gets nothing but a blank look in response.

Yes, _thank you_ Minho, Newt thinks, my leg _is_ acting up, I’m so glad you’re concerned.

Minho raises an eyebrow at him, as if he can read his thoughts, or he’s challenging him to keep arguing.

Newt doesn’t want to give him any kind of satisfaction, though. Even if his ankle _is_ hurting more than usual, even if it is stiffer, making his limp worse from all the endless walking he’s had to endure, he’s still not going to let Minho take every single burden upon himself. Especially not something as trivial as carrying their pack.

So, he waits until Minho isn’t focused on him anymore, and then he bumps him, rams his shoulder into him with more strength than is probably necessary.

Caught off guard, Minho stumbles, and Newt flashes him a grin as he rights himself.

“Alright there, Min?” he asks, his tone smug rather than concerned.

“Shuck face,” Minho snaps. But a moment later he shrugs the pack off and hands it over to Newt anyway.

 “Thank you.” Newt leans over and brushes his shoulder against Minho’s, gently and with no ill intent this time.

-

They’re sitting back to back, leaning on each other to keep themselves upright. Newt is pretty sure that Minho is sleeping, even though he swore he wasn’t going to. He’s not snoring, but his form feels too relaxed to be awake.

It’s their first night separated from Thomas, and it feels weird that he isn’t with them. Minho had been adamant that they go back and look for him at first, but when there seemed to be no way back through the wreckage of the tunnel, he had relented.

Jorge insisted that Thomas was safe with Brenda, that she would get him through the city unharmed. Newt doesn’t really trust Jorge yet, or like him very much, but he wants to believe that’s true. He knows Minho does, too, no matter how much he had argued it at the time.

In the meantime, though, Jorge had found them all a spot to spend the night after escorting them through most of the city. Minho had announced that they’d continue their trek tomorrow and finally get out of this place, but only _after_ they took a look around for Thomas. Nobody had argued, not even Jorge, and now here they are.

Newt isn’t sure why he and Minho ended up sitting like this, but it was apparently a unanimous decision, because they’d both gone for it without a word. Sighing, he leans his head back until it rests against Minho’s and looks up at the sky.

There are more stars here than there were in the Glade, and they seem even more spectacular now that he knows those stars were fake. He thinks of Alby suddenly, wishes he could be here to see these stars, and his heart hurts.

He feels Minho shifting around behind him, though, and hears him swear softly. So he’s not asleep, then – it figures.

Newt has every intention of ignoring Minho’s fidgeting, but it persists for a few more minutes, and there isn’t anything else to focus on anyway.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Newt whispers, and despite its softness it comes off harsher than he wanted. He cranes his neck to try and get a look at the boy behind him.

Minho sighs, and it sounds irritated. “It’s these shuck burns,” he whispers back, frustration lacing his voice, “man, there’s no way I can sleep like this.”

Oh. He’d almost forgotten about that little detail, in all the fuss. Newt frowns to himself as he sits up and scoots away from Minho, turning to face him properly. Minho is watching him curiously over his shoulder, and in the light of the moon Newt can just make out the few burns that mar his face. He motions with his finger for Minho to turn around, and the other boy complies, albeit with a roll of his eyes.

“What?” Minho whispers.

Newt doesn’t respond. Instead, he inches closer to Minho and tugs at his shirt, pulling it down and aside and every which way as he carefully examines the damage that the lightning had done. There are singed spots on Minho’s pants, too – all over him, really, front and back, and all of them look just as raw and painful. But Newt takes his time and looks over every single one, taking stock of them even though he knows that there’s nothing he can do.

It makes him feel better, somehow, just seeing the damage his friend has survived. He hasn’t gotten a proper look at him until now, and he recalls how Thomas had said it _wasn’t too bad_. He sighs. This whole mess probably looks even worse in broad daylight.

Minho remains quiet the whole time, watching Newt with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Nice, huh?” he says when Newt is finished.

Even his palms are burnt, though, and Newt is turning his hands over in his own, staring at them for a few long moments before dropping them. There are a few particularly nasty burns – mostly on Minho’s chest, but there’s one on his shin that looks pretty awful, and suddenly Newt recalls Jorge’s violence from earlier.

Newt scowls. “You look bloody awful,” he says, gently pulling on Minho’s more injured leg until he gets the hint and stretches it out next to Newt.

“You try being set on fire sometime,” Minho replies, watching Newt curiously. The both of them are still whispering and trying to be as quiet as possible, although they’re not sure anyone else is even asleep at all.

Newt doesn’t bother responding, he’s too busy pulling the fabric of Minho’s pants away from the angry red mark on his shin. There are blisters there, but some of them have burst, which is no doubt Jorge’s doing – he wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bruise there to go with the burn.

Gingerly, and without a word, Newt reaches for his water and slowly starts to pour it over the scorched skin.

“What are you doing?” Minho hisses at him, flinching but not pulling away. “You’re _wasting_ that!”

Newt only shrugs. He knows that the action is essentially useless, but he can’t just let Minho suffer, he has to do _something_. “Feels better, though, doesn’t it?”

A few more drops trickle out before Minho grabs his wrist and straightens it out, forcing the stream of water to stop. Then he pulls his leg away, folding it back under the other. “Don’t even think of doing that again.”

“You’re welcome,” is all Newt has to say, sealing his water and setting it off to the side. Minho is glaring at him, but there’s no real heat in it.

There’s silence for a while, the two of them just sitting there. Minho looks even more tired than Newt feels, and every time he shifts, his burnt and torn clothes brush his injuries and there’s a tiny flash of pain in his eyes. No wonder he can’t sleep. Between pain and a restless mind, Newt knows that there’s no peace to be found.

“Let me see yours,” Minho speaks up suddenly, voice still soft.

Newt looks at him in confusion for a moment, before Minho gestures at his leg. “Let me see,” he repeats.

“Minho – ”

Any protests are cut off when Minho reaches forward and grips his calf, pulling at it until Newt relents and places it in his friend’s lap. He leans back on his hands to keep himself balanced and upright.

Minho doesn’t waste time with examinations – he knows the damage well enough, because it’s old and because he was there when it happened. Newt wants nothing more than to pull his leg away, because it hurts, yeah, but it’s an old pain and one he can deal with just fine – but then Minho’s too-warm too-rough hands are on him, rubbing out the aches and the cramps, and he just sighs.

Newt reclaims his leg after a few minutes of that, suddenly frustrated that Minho has been more help to him than he has to Minho. “We should sleep,” he says.

“Great idea,” Minho responds, eyes rolling, “why didn’t I think of that?”

Ignoring the blatant sarcasm, Newt turns around and offers his back for Minho to lean on once again.

-

This time, it’s Newt who grabs Minho’s hand.

It’s a combination of the lightning storm, those terrifying creatures, and the thick mud that now coats the ground. He’s operating mostly on instinct, and right now instinct tells him to make sure that he himself is safe, and to make sure that as many other people are as safe as he can get them. Right now Minho is closest, so Newt makes a beeline for him.

He sees Thomas running for one of the pods with Teresa in tow, and Brenda and Jorge follow them. It makes sense – the pods are rubbery, and probably the best place to be right now.

And so, he runs to Minho, grabs his hand, and points over his shoulder at one of the pods. Minho nods at him and they make a dash for it, holding hands all the while. The ground is slippery, and the lightning comes all too close a couple times, and Newt’s bad leg causes him to fall once, but Minho hauls him to his feet and they make it to safety in one piece.

They let go of each other’s hands so they can pull the pod closed, but once that’s done they meet in the center of it, standing side by side and catching their breath. The sound of the rain on the roof is loud, but the occasional rumble of thunder is louder still, and Minho has his gaze fixed upwards, as if daring the lightning to strike him a second time.

Newt pushes his long, sopping wet hair out of his face and tucks it behind his ears. He almost wants to say something, but there’s not really anything _to_ say. He looks at his watch and sees that they still have several minutes until they’re supposedly “safe”.

Lightning hits the ground directly in front of their hiding place, and Newt and Minho simultaneously reach for each other’s hand. Minho looks a bit sheepish at his jumpy reaction, but Newt hardly cares. He busies himself with using his free hand to wring excess water out of his hair, and he can’t help but notice that Minho’s still looks pristine, despite the rain.

“D’you think they’ll keep their word?” he asks, because none of what has happened here so far has made this place feel anything like a safe haven. It’s a pointless question, though, all things considered.

“Dunno,” Minho answers him anyway, his voice bitter, “guess we’ll just have to trust them.” He looks angry about that, like trusting is the last thing he wants to do. But really there’s nothing else for it.

A familiar noise comes from outside, then, out of place amongst the rain and the thunder. The two of them share a brief look before moving to re-open the pod.

-

In a few short moments, they’ll be leaving the Berg and heading into Denver. It’s really the only course of action to take, and Minho is all for it…but still, he wishes that they didn’t have to leave Newt behind.

He’s known Newt for as far back as his meager memory stretches. It’s not long at all, in the grand scheme of things, but Minho counts it as his whole life, because those two years are the only part of his life that’s really relevant anymore.

Long story short, Newt is his best friend, and Minho is about to leave him behind and go without him for the first time ever. It’s a childish thing to be upset over, but he figures since he can’t remember his childhood, he’ll let himself wallow in something like this, just this once.

He’s actually angry, and frustrated, and sad, for various reasons. Mostly because Newt is dying, and there’s nothing he can do.

And he’s not even dying in a convenient way, it’s not going to be quick or painless, and it hurts watching Newt – calm, rational, ridiculously kind Newt – go downhill like this. He’s losing his mind and Minho can’t do anything about it.

Lately, Newt is snappy, and when he’s not snappy he’s melancholy. He tries to act normal when the Flare isn’t rearing its ugly head, but even then it’s obvious to Minho that he’s not okay.

Some part of Minho still hasn’t accepted that someday very soon, Newt won’t be himself at all anymore; someday very soon, Newt just plain old won’t be around. It hurts to think about, and it doesn’t do Minho any good, so he usually shoves those thoughts away. He’s aware that refusing to accept this is going to hit him hard later on, but for now he ignores it.

He doesn’t know how to handle this new, exceptionally fragile Newt at all, though, and he knows he’s done a shuck _awful_ job so far. Recalling the fight they’d gotten into at the WICKED headquarters always sends a pang through his heart, though he still hasn’t apologized for it.

Minho needs Newt, despite everything; cares about him, even though he doesn’t make it obvious.

So he goes to find him, now.

Newt is hanging around the main living quarters, sitting on a couch, and he appears just about as lost as Minho has ever seen him. He’s looking down at his hands, which are clasped tightly together, and Minho wonders what he’s thinking about and if it’s very sane. Feeling kind of bad about that thought, he approaches his friend and sits down next to him.

He has no idea what to say. He never does, and like Newt so kindly pointed out before, he doesn’t know when to be tactful and just _shut up_. Minho thinks maybe he’d be safer not saying anything right now, actually, but he can’t leave Newt just like that, without saying _something_ to him. Who knows what state Newt’s mind will be in the next time they’re together.

“What do you want?” Newt snaps at him, but doesn’t look his way, still staring at his hands.

Minho just barely fights off a surge of anger, glaring at Newt and wishing with everything he has that things could somehow be okay.

“Just came to say goodbye,” he answers, voice tight. He thinks that sounds too final, and obviously Newt does, too, because he snorts derisively.

“Bye then,” Newt mutters, and something about his voice makes Minho realize that he’s _himself_ when he says it.

There’s silence for a long moment, and they sit there, still and quiet, for longer than they probably should. Surprisingly, no one comes looking for either of them.

Minho just watches his friend for a time, but then Newt looks up, and his eyes are so unbelievably _sad_.

He can’t just sit here after that.

Minho moves forward and wraps his arms securely around Newt, pulling him close and squeezing him as tight as he dares. The response is instant, and Newt hugs him back with just as much enthusiasm. He feels Newt trembling, and he hopes he isn’t crying, because if he is, then Minho’s afraid his own fragile hold over his tears will break, and they’ll both be a mess.

But he swallows down his sadness and straightens his spine, makes the embrace as steady as he can. One of them has to keep it together.

“Newt, I…” Minho isn’t even sure what he’s starting to say. He grasps for something reassuring, or funny, or anything to lighten the mood some, but draws a blank.

Newt cuts him off anyway with a vigorous shake of his head. There are a few sniffles from him as he clings impossibly tighter to Minho, and he shakes with silent sobs now and then. Minho just holds him, unwilling to let go and unsure what else to do.

Eventually, Newt pulls back and offers a pathetic and fleeting excuse for a smile, his eyes red-rimmed and tired. He pats Minho on the shoulders before letting his hands fall away, back into his lap.

“Take care of Tommy, yeah?” he says, voice quiet.

Minho just nods, a bit stunned and still at a complete and total loss for words. He doesn’t want to lose Newt, but it feels like that’s what’s happening right now.

“And don’t get into any trouble yourself,” Newt adds. His smile flickers back into existence for the barest hint of a second.

“Can’t make any promises.” Minho keeps his expression as steadfast as he can, and manages a small smirk, even.

There’s silence for a little while again, and Newt eventually drops his gaze once more.

“We’ll be back soon,” Minho promises, and his voice comes out much stronger than he feels, “we’ll come back for you.”

Newt shakes his head and Minho is sure that he’s about to protest angrily, but all he says is:

“Get on with it then.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey so Minho is one of my absolute favorite fictional characters of all time, 
> 
> I remember that this entire fic came about bc I saw someone somewhere point out that the last time Minho and Newt ever touch in canon is when they have that fight, and I couldn't leave it like that, so. 
> 
> Some parts of this I'm still not happy with, but as previously mentioned, it is decently old and I've since improved a little BUT-
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
